Friends in need need friends in deed

Antionette Kerr

Published: Thursday, September 6, 2012 at 11:28 a.m.

Last Modified: Thursday, September 6, 2012 at 11:28 a.m.

My past few weeks have been a testament to the old adage "a friend in need is a friend indeed" or is it "a friend in need is a friend in deed"? Either way, as a frequenter of hospital emergency rooms during the past four years, I have gained expertise in the area of being the friend in need.

A few days ago, I experienced another pesky lung collapse and found myself earning another unexpected stay in a medical facility. I went into the hospital terrified but quickly found comfort from friends in deed asking the same question, "What can I do to help?"

I've never been good at answering that question, and I thought that I was the only one until I started talking to another "regular." I began taking notes for our earnest friends, the ones who I call "friends in deed."

First, Friends in Deed, please resist the urge to show up in the hospital room. I know that you want information and that you need to "lay eyes" on your infirm friend, but, before you show up, think about waiting to come to the hospital for a number of reasons. First, is your friend vain enough to care about people seeing them swollen, without make-up, hair products and essential undergarments? Be aware of close encounters when they may be trying to clean up. Once I had to ask someone to stand in front of the door so that I could have some bathing privacy.

It's also likely that your patient friend is grumpy, medicated or both. Keep in mind that they are bombarded with late-night "visitors" checking vitals, administering medication and drawing blood. Being in the hospital is not a vacation, and the traffic flow of caregivers thankfully never ends.

At one point I was so exhausted that I began counting visitors to my room in a 24-hour period. I had 32 entries, seven text messages and two phone calls (that included 27 hospital staff visits and one call to see if I was interested in dinner). Perhaps it's best to wait until they are awake, alert and un-medicated before making your debut.

Secondly, if you are invited to show up by the patient or a family member, it's OK to come bearing gifts. Most proper patients will say, "Oh you shouldn't have," but they don't really mean it, and I strongly encourage what one friend affectionately called "bringing happies."

My friends in deed have really outdone themselves with some of the sweetest gestures. My happies have included: a hand-knitted prayer shawl from First Reformed United Church of Christ (and I'm not even a member) and an adorable stuffed animal that we've named Courage: The Cowardly Lion. Courage helped settle the debate about whether I was going to have a serious medical procedure.

Then there was an "I'm Just Sayin" T-shirt that was given to me for the ride home (by two of my friends — fans of this column — and actually I think that they would read anything including stereo instructions if they think that I wrote it) and essential undergarments (because I literally went to the hospital in an emergency). While moms across America have been warning us to consider clean undergarments for those just in case moments, they never said anything about traveling with spares. Last but not least, a few friends and family heard my cries on Facebook and responded to my frustration with hospital food by bringing me care packages that included Dewey's Cheesecake, Milner's Prime Rib and Sushi.

I think that, after being scared by the documents given to anyone going under general anesthesia, one would certainly enjoy what I dramatically called my pre-surgery "last meal." But let's remember not to go overboard; flowers are beautiful until you are trying to transport two or three large arrangements on the day of your discharge.

I can't complain though, and I should count my blessings. There was a patient next door who had been hospitalized for over two months. She was unable to leave the unit, but she had lots of wonderful "friends in deed"; they sang praise songs each day. The Sunday before leaving the hospital, a choir full of her friends filled her hospital room. I turned down my television to listen as my nurse told me that her church friends showed up faithfully every Sunday for prayer and praise.

When it came time for me to leave, I had to have extra bags to pack up all the "happies," but the most important gifts were things that couldn't be put in a bag. I was thankful for a productive stay that included the prayer guided hands of good doctors, nurses, radiologists, anesthesiologists, transporters, nutritionists and maintenance workers. The real gifts were the love and support given by friends in my time of fear and uncertainty.

And if you happen to know a patient like me who couldn't articulately answer your question "can I do anything for you?", somehow I think a friend in deed already knows the answer.

Antionette Kerr can be reached at kerr@thewritefolks.com.

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